Saturday, July 26, 2008

One of the things I like about Turretin on perspicuity is that it's clear enough that the distinctions used are not ad hoc, nor do they arise purely out of polemics (even though polemics is never far away with Protestant scholasticism). You can see this from the fact that several of the distinctions used in the discussion are generalizable to other arenas where clarity or lucidity is important. For instance, I've been fairly critical of the confusions and conflations people tend to make when talking about clarity as a value in philosophy; some of these are highlighted by distinctions Turretin makes.

For instance, when we say that a philosophical text is clear, we may mean either that its content is clear or that the way the content is presented is clear. Indeed, the distinction is crucial, because if you look at some of the things in philosophy that are lauded as 'clear', it's pretty clear that it can't be the content, but only something about how that content is laid out. But sometimes you also find 'clarity' being used as a filter for weeding out not just bad style of presentation but also positions that are themselves thought obscure, regardless of how well they are presented. The term 'clarity' may verbally appear in each discussion, but not with the same sense.

For another, clarity is sometimes attributed to a work only on condition of certain necessary but difficult steps having been taken in interpretation, and sometimes attributed to it on the basis that no difficult steps have to be taken to interpret it. An example of where discussions usually end up being very ambiguous on this point are the common criticisms of Hegel or Heidegger as being unclear: it's often unclear which of these two grounds is met. It's pretty clear that it's difficult to get to the point where Hegel or Heidegger is clear, requiring some discipline, study, and familiarity with particular methods, approaches, and positions. But proponents of Hegel and Heidegger would often say that there is a point where they become clear on key points, however difficult it may be to reach; whereas some of their critics appear to take the fact that you can't just pick up Heidegger and understand right off the bat as a reason for thinking Heidegger is an unclear author; which is a confusion.

And so forth. There are plenty of kinds of clarity that are valuable; but they are not the same, and distinctions need to be maintained. The distinction between formal and effective clarity (the clarity of the work versus the clarity it gives to other things once understood) is one that I confess that I myself have sometimes not made as I should.

Friday, July 25, 2008

I've been reading Turretin on perspicuity of Scripture, and found it interesting the extent to which he explicitly qualifies the question. That there were such qualifications I had already known (and have argued here once or twice), but Turretin lays it out very nicely. He identifies the following as what is not meant by 'perspicuity of Scripture':

(1) It does not mean that Scripture is clear and easy to interpret for everyone; interpretation of Scripture requires illumination of the Spirit. So it's not perspicuity on the part of the subject (the reader) but on the part of the object (Scripture).

(2) It does not mean that there are no mysteries in Scripture, i.e., content so sublime that human understanding cannot exhaust it, and could not be known by us at all without divine condescension. So it's not perspicuity on the part of the content but on the part of the way it is presented.

(3) It does not mean that no interpretation or exposition is ever required; not everything in Scripture is equally clear, and some things require profound study. So it's not universal perspicuity, but perspicuity in things necessary to salvation.

(4) It does not mean that matters necessary to salvation are clearly presented wherever they are found.

(5) It does not mean that interpreting Scripture involves no necessary means for interpretation (and among these Turretin includes, at least for all cases not involving special divine intervention, "the voice and ministry of the church, lectures and commentaries, prayers and vigils").

So that's what it is not. What, then, is it? Turretin puts it this way: Scripture is understandable

(1) in matters necessary for salvation(2) not with regard to the reader but with regard to Scripture itself(3) in such a way that it can be read and understood salutarily without appeal to external traditions.

And he argues that this is true on the basis of

(1) Scriptural statements of lucidity;(2) God's being the Father of lights;(3) Scripture's purpose being to serve as canon and rule of faith and morals;(4) The actual ease of understanding the basic message;(5) Its function as a covenant or treaty between God and ourselves.

A very interesting discussion, and recommended for those who occasionally find themselves, willy-nilly, in sola-scriptura wars.

Yesterday was the feast of Youssef Antoun Makhlouf, a.k.a. St. Charbel, a.k.a. St. Sharbel, so here's a small something reposted in honor of the great modern hermit.

Annaya

The cedars grow tall on the Liban hillswith life beyond grasp of human will;light grows bright around muddy graveof a hermit-saint who hid his face;the heart is kissed by burning lightof cedar rising to sun and skyand, flaming with fire that sears the night,it burns but is not burned.

Thursday, July 24, 2008

Bold means I've read it through; Italic means I've started it but not finished it. The claim going around with the list (the source is unknown to me) is that the average American has only read six of these. Despite the fact that a number of these are standard high school fare, I actually wouldn't be too surprised if that's true. You can see, incidentally, that two of the places in the Really Classic classics that I'm weak are Dickens and Tolstoy. (ht)

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

Jender has an interesting post at "Feminist Philosophers" on a case of a prejudice I'd never heard of, the idea that, because August children take a bit of a hit on testing, at least in English state schools, they will "do less well academically" and that we should "not expect too much" from them.

I found this quote from that article interesting:

John Dunford, general secretary of the Association of Schools and College Leaders, said: "You don't do your children any favours by having them in July or August."

Which is an odd way of putting it, since it suggests something like, "Parents, due to entirely arbitrary features of our school system, summer children are put at a completely unnecessary disadvantages; you should stop having summer children." I doubt that was precisely what Dunford meant, and possibly he was simply misunderstood by the reporter; but that's what the words suggests.

In any case, I found it an interesting case (as Jender suggests it is) of accumulating penalties on fairly trivial grounds due to biases; particularly as I'm an August boy myself.

There has been some discussion recently of whether senior philosophers have an obligation to retire, given the difficulties of the job market (here, here, and here, in various tones of voice). I think it's pretty clear that they don't (the question survives in another, weaker form, namely, whether senior philosophers should generally regard it as good for the profession and act accordingly; which I'll let senior philosophers decide), although I must say it has been extraordinarily amusing how quickly senior philosophers have jumped in to deny it. What has struck me about the whole conversation, though, is that everyone assumes that retirement is and must be the end of the road: that the only reason you'd retire is because you've become dead wood. And no one has recognized that this is a symptom of a profound failure on our part, one almost as profound as the failure to prevent 'adjunctification'. It is utterly absurd that we have no standard options after retirement for senior philosophers who still want to be actively involved in philosophy. If anything, retirement should standardly be the next stage after tenure, not an exit from the field but another kind of removal of constraints. Perhaps we get something vaguely like this in how some departments treat emeritus professors; but only vaguely, and only like. We are failing people at the end as we are at the beginning. But what gets me is that everyone takes it for granted: suggest retirement and it is assumed you are suggesting uselessness -- and, given the way the system's set up, that's a not unreasonable assumption. But it needs to be brought to consciousness that this is a failure that needs to be overcome, not a reasonable feature of the landscape.

Monday, July 21, 2008

Henry Crawford had too much sense not to feel the worth of good principles in a wife, though he was too little accustomed to serious reflection to know them by their proper name; but when he talked of her having such a steadiness and regularity of conduct, such a high notion of honour, and such an observance of decorum as might warrant any man in the fullest dependence on her faith and integrity, he expressed what was inspired by the knowledge of her being well principled and religious.

Jane Austen, Mansfield Park, Chapter 30. I trust everyone has had the experience of talking with someone who was "too little accustomed to serious reflection" to know virtues and principles by their proper name, and thus talk vaguely of some valuable thing under the name of some other valuable thing.

I trust also that everyone has had the experience on occasion of doing this very thing themselves. I do not trust, however, that everyone recognizes that they have had the experience.

Every life ends in lonely grief;all lovers rise and, rising, softly leave;the lights upon the high and canvas skyglimmer off and fade, afraid to diebut dying nonethless into endless void;and I am left to live with loss and lie.

The wind on stormy wave moves the seabut on the sand-scored stone there will not bethe slightest tremor; Heaven let it bethe stone, not sea, that settles inside me.

Every sun will set to gnawing night;all faith to fear, and reverence to flight;all love to loss, as sweetness turns to sigh;all life to death, for love itself can dieand fall in shallow grave, mourned beside the road;my mind alone is left, and shattered heart, to cry.

The sailor in the storm swallowed by the seastruggles in his pain, but then is free;first fear from love of life, but from life then freed.Swiftly come the last; the first -- short may it be.

People always leave; that's what people do.We have new friends to lose our friends anew;not knowledge, might, or wealth will surcease buy,for all will cease, all will fall, all will die,all will fail, all deeds and works of man,all laid low that once, but once, was high.

Can Even Death

All this world's minionsbefore death come to flatter;but if I love you,can even death matter?The world's many watersin tide and in floodpour down upon us;bt see -- all is good.If you love me,what does death matter?By force and by arrow,by bullet to brain,by harm to the soul,by tortures of pain,if love bonds us both,what death can then matter?The stars in their coursescircle above;God in His gracedescends like a dove;though all this world's minionsbefore death come to flatter,if our God is Love,can even death matter?

Caveats

For a rough introduction to my philosophy of blogging, including the Code of Amiability I try to follow on this weblog, please read my fifth anniversary post. I consider blogging to be a very informal type of publishing - like putting up thoughts on your door with a note asking for comments. Nothing in this weblog is done rigorously: it's a forum to let my mind be unruly, a place for jottings and first impressions. Because I consider posts here to be 'literary seedings' rather than finished products, nothing here should be taken as if it were anything more than an attempt to rough out some basic thoughts on various issues. Learning to look at any topic philosophically requires, I think, jumping right in, even knowing that you might be making a fool of yourelf; so that's what I do. My primary interest in most topics is the flow and structure of reasoning they involve rather than their actual conclusions, so most of my posts are about that. If, however, you find me making a clear factual error, let me know; blogging is a great way to get rid of misconceptions.